


The Paper Anniversary

by Johnismyloveforever64



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Anal Fingering, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:55:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnismyloveforever64/pseuds/Johnismyloveforever64
Summary: It's John and Paul's one-year anniversary, and they are ready to celebrate. However, they can't exactly waltz into a restaurant holding hands. They must think of a plan to keep to things covert but romantic. So John makes a pretty big gesture in an attempt to do just that.





	1. Go On

It was the last day of school, and Paul had yet to remove his uniform. John, having finished term a couple of days earlier, did not look enviously at his partner sweating in a blazer and tie. 

The sun was beating down over the vast cemetery in which John and Paul had decided to spend their afternoon. Most teenagers having a secret love affair would want to go behind a locked door, but John had insisted on sitting in the English sun. John, in tight jeans and a black t-shirt sat up against a tree his legs splayed out. Paul sat beside him, resting his head on John’s shoulder. They were both munching on some sweets and staring up at the clouds. 

“As I was saying before,” John said in between bites, “I really don’t know about this whole communism thing. Do you think it’ll work or—Paul, are you listening?”

Paul snapped out of his reverie and tried to smile. “Yeah, yeah, you’re pissed at the commi’s. I get that.”

“Where’s your mind off to?” John replied, dropping the box into his lap and leaning against the tree. Paul scooted closer to him but didn’t reply. “Oh come on? Don’t play this game. What’s up with you?”

“Today is July fourth,” he whispered.

“And you’re still saddened by American Independence. Aren’t we all?”

He clapped Paul on the shoulder, waiting for him to laugh at his joke, but Paul stayed silent. Leaning forward, Lennon crinkled his brow and eyed his mate. “What’s on July 4th?”

“Nothing.”

John nearly rolled his eyes. He would ordinarily joke that Paul was so the chick of the relationship, but he sensed he wasn’t in the mood. Instead, he eyed his partner, watching his frown get deeper and deeper. All the while, the wheels were turning in Lennon’s head. 

“Is this about our anniversary?” He chirped. 

Paul’s eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his face. wrapping his arms around John’s neck, he exclaimed, “You did remember!”

“You thought I forgot? How could I forget?”

“Well, you hadn’t mentioned it. and I thought you’d be bugging me about prezzies and stuff.”

Suppressing a laugh, John replied, “What prezzies? You’re not getting a present.”  
Paul’s jaw dropped. John fell back against the grass, laughing. Paul laid beside him, squinting in the sun. He gently took his mate’s hand. “I would never forget, Paul,” John replied, suddenly serious. “I mean, July 6th that was the day that Lennon met McCartney. It’s the day the whole world will remember.”

Smirking, Paul answered, “Yeah okay, John.” John squeezed his mate’s hand. 

“Of course we’ll celebrate,” John added. 

Paul became reticent. Crinkling his brow, John rolled over, so he was facing his mate. He watched as Paul’s eyes grew sad, and John was entirely puzzled over it. the classic bit of, ‘oh did my boyfriend forget our anniversary,’ was done. Wracking his brain, he tried to remember what else he’d done to piss him off.

“Is this about the rose garden? Because I think urine is good for plants.”

Paul shushed him.

“It’s not about the rose garden.”

“What is it then?”

Paul sat up against the tree, and John scooted up next to him. Paul looked into his partner’s eyes and said, “We can’t celebrate our anniversary.”  
Now John was truly baffled. His long list of anniversary gift ideas said otherwise. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” John said slowly. “I did get you a present.”

“It’s not the presents.” Sighing, he explained, “Every other couple gets to have a big date night for their anniversary. But we can’t exactly go to Chez Lamont and hold hands over the table.”

“We could go to the movie theater and hold hands in the dark. We’ve yet to get caught doing that.”

Paul rapidly shook his head. 

“We’ve done that so many times. I just wanted to have a special night with you, and it’s just terrible to think that we can’t have this one thing. And to think, other couples never have to even think twice about this.”

His expression had taken on a real melodramatic quality. John thought he might break into song or something. John sighed and stood up. he extended his hand to his boyfriend. Paul, standing up, took his partner’s hands. 

“I love you, James Paul McCartney,” he professed, “And I want you have to the best anniversary possible—sparing no expense.”

“Uh, John, you’ve got like 11 quid to your name.”

“Okay, sparing some expense.”

Smirking, they squeezed each other’s hands and looked deeply in one another’s eyes.  
John, with all the passion of a Shakespearian actor, went on, “I’m going to make sure you have a perfectly normal—but awesome—anniversary.”  
He tenderly kissed Paul on the cheek. Paul’s cheeks turned bright pink as he pulled away. 

“Though,” John replied, returning to his normal cheeky but firm voice, “You’re not getting out of the present thing. I expect a proper anniversary gift.”

“Gotcha!”

__ 

John decided that they should spend the next day and a half a part. So after dropping Paul off in Allerton, they parted ways till the morning of the 6th. In the meantime, John spent almost the entire 28 hour period locked up in his room drawing up plans. 

After he’d been up there for nearly a whole day, Mimi came upstairs to check on him. she found John, sitting cross-legged on his bed, rattling into the phone. He was surrounded by crumpled up scraps of paper. The yellow pages were on his lap. Somewhere in the distance, “Love Me Tender” was playing on a loop. 

“…I need good view, sonny…”

“John?” Mimi’s voice cut like a knife through the quiet room. “What are you up to?”

John froze, feeling a bit like he’d been caught without his pants on. Stumbling, he replied, “It’s for the group. I’m trying to pull together some gigs.”  
Miffed, Mimi left him alone. 

On the morning of the 6th of July, John woke up very early in the morning. He had set his alarm to 6, but he woke up long before that. and for a while, he laid peacefully in his bed, waiting for that alarm to go off and he could start his day. As he lied there, he imagined where he was a year before. 

His lanky 16 year-old form had risen out of bed late that morning. He was technically still at Grammar School, and the oppressive regime of Quarry Bank had yet to let up. and he was so done with it all. He couldn’t stand putting on that pathetic blazer day after day, and the bright yellow tie—imitating a yellow jacket—didn’t help. As he got dressed, all he could think about was putting together the exact opposite of whatever Quarry Bank would want from him. So he settled on a checked shirt and tight trousers. Looking at himself in the mirror, his lanky teenaged form seemed somehow awkward. His shoulders weren’t broad enough, but his legs were somehow too long for every pair of trousers he owned. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he sauntered downstairs for breakfast.  
Mimi was sat at the kitchen table buttering her toast. 

“John, what have you got on?” She asked. Smirking, he marched out the door and down Menlove Ave. At the very least, he thought, I’ve got the outfit down. 

When John awoke on July 6th, 1958, he felt as if some of the strings had been cut. He had long since been released from Quarry Bank’s oppressive regime. And putting on the first bright-colored striped shirt he found was no longer ‘shocking’ to anyone. And as he stood in front of the mirror, twisting his hair in all different directions, he felt a bit more comfortable in his own skin. 

He skipped downstairs, moving two steps at a time, and raced into the kitchen. He found Mimi sitting in the breakfast nook, sipping her tea. 

“Now Mimi, don’t get mad.”

She practically dropped her tea. Composing herself, she opened her eyes to John’s wild scheme. 

“I have to stay over mum’s tonight.”

“Oh, that’s all,” she chuckled. “I thought you’d flunked out of school or something.”

Shrugging, John responded. “I know you get fussy about that.”

“Well if it’s planned,” she said curtly, referring to John’s many escapes to Julia’s, “Then I don’t mind.”  
Grinning, John thanked her and raced out the door, his guitar strung across his back. He arrived at Forthlin Road not twenty minutes later. Looking up at the McCartney home, he eyed Paul’s bedroom window out front. The curtain was drawn, and that told him one very key thing. 

A mischievous look in his eye, John hopped the gate and shimmied up the drainpipe into Paul’s bedroom. Falling onto Paul’s bedroom floor, he knocked over a few of Paul’s textbooks. He spied a sleeping Paul, nestled up against his bedroom wall, his guitar by his feet. John leaned in close, watching his lips twitch ever so slightly. He knelt down next to him and gently kissed him like Sleeping Beauty. Paul’s eyes fluttered open. 

“How is my sweet bunny this morning.”

“John!” He exclaimed. John shushed him, thinking of Jim McCartney two doors down. “I thought you were coming at noon.”

“I never said noon. I said I’d be here by noon. Well, it is before noon.”  
Paul looked at him in utter disbelief. This only made John more amused. He nudged Paul who promptly sat up pulling on a pair of trousers. John disguised his disappointment over this. Pressing on, he picked up his guitar case and placed it over their laps. 

“Are you going to serenade me?”

John didn’t respond; he simply opened the case revealing a small Tupperware container. Inside was a modest collection of scones, various jams, and a small container of butter. 

“Breakfast in bed,” John announced proudly. 

“Where did you get this?”

“I may have told a white lie.”

Paul, bemused, replied, “Uh, what kind of lie?”

Laughing, John explained. “I may have told my elderly neighbor Clementine Curtis—real name—that my Uncle Rupert died, and she sent me a small fruit basket. Oh, I almost forgot.” He listed his six-string and revealed another Tupperware container, this one filled to the brim with fruit.  
Paul looked at him in amazement.

“You lied to an old lady to get scones? I feel like it’d be easier to go to a deli.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have enough for our date.”

“There’s a date?” Paul sounded genuinely surprised.

“Did I not promise you a date.”

“True…”

“Now eat up; I did not kill off a beloved uncle for this stuff to get cold.” 

After they ate their breakfast, John shimmied back down the drainpipe and hopped back over the gate. He then walked back through the front gate and knocked on the door. Jim McCartney answered, the newspaper under his arm. 

“Hello, John. What brings you here so early?”

“My mum is taking us up to New Brighton today. We have to catch the ferry, so uh, is he in?”

“Yes of course. Paul! John is here!”

Paul raced down the stairs fully dressed, duck arsed styled, and looking incredibly eager. 

“Thanks dad,” he mumbled before walking out the door. John thanked Mr. McCartney before whisking is son away. 

“So what is this exactly, John?”

“You’ll see,” he responded coyly. 

__

The boys took a bus out of the city. They weaved through the countryside, passing many vast open landscapes. It was all very picturesque, and Paul was having a hard time figuring out why John of all people would want to tour the countryside. Also, he had no clue where they were going. The emptiness of the countryside had left them no clues as to where they were headed.

“John,” he whispered, his voice soft, “Uh, this is a bit far beyond the cinema.”

“Can’t I make this fucking special, Macca?”

Paul conceded. The couple’s hands were intertwined, something they were only able to do, because the bus was mostly empty. The only other patron was an old lady sleeping a few rows back. It was for this reason, Paul figured out, that they had to wake up at such a god forsaken hour.  
As they were driving, Paul, sitting next to the window, started thinking of where he was a year ago. The bus’s bumpy ride imitated his rough ride in the back of Ivan’s rusted old car. Around midday, Ivan had pulled up to his house in his poorly aging Volkswagen and pleaded with him to go the fete. He had mostly agreed because Ivan spoke of this illustrious John Lennon character. His name had been dropped a few times before, and he had caught a few glimpses of him walking too and from school. But they had never been formally introduced. Paul readily agreed and threw on his best sport coat for the occasion.  
He then squeezed into the back of Ivan’s car beside a box of old car parts—not a good sign—and his little brother Max. The ride had only lasted about twenty minutes, but by the end of it he was feeling wobbly as if he’d come off a rollercoaster. But when he stepped out in the bright English sun, and he saw the lush forests surrounding Woolton, he suddenly got this feeling like everything was going to be okay. 

When he heard John start to snore, he snapped out of his reverie. He turned to face his mate, who only a couple of hours into their ‘date’ had already passed out from his exhaustion. Paul longed to tell John he snored, and he would lament about how unattractive he looked with his mouth hanging open. And John would look at him with this look like, ‘are you actually joking?’ Then he’d kiss his partner, and it’d all be forgotten.  
He rested his head on John’s forehead and let his eyes close. 

__

The bus slammed on its breaks, and Paul and John were shot out of their seats—and from their naps—and pushed up against the seat. 

“I feel like that was a personal attack,” John said sleepily fixing his coif. Paul smiled sleepily at him. John, seeming to get an instant energy boost, led him away from the bus. 

They were parked in what was essentially the middle of nowhere. The bus stop was at the end of a long country road lined with gorgeous colonial estates. Each one was painted in pastels and had beautiful lawns. Most of them had some sort of modern vehicle in the driveway. Paul, looking around, wondered if one of John’s rich relatives lived here. 

“Where are we going John?”

“Just come along. You’ll know soon enough.”

The pair raced through the streets stopping a few times to admire the homes. But after each one, John instructed Paul to keep walking.  
It wasn’t until they reached the end of col-de-sac that John told Paul to stop. They were faced with a beautiful three story home. It was baby blue with white shutters and a large screened in porch. Out front was a sign reading, “Blue Valley Inn.”

“Is this a hotel? Are staying in a hotel?”

“Bed in breakfast technically.”

Paul rushed over to his boyfriend and planted a big kiss on his lips.

“My god,” he whispered, “This is incredible! How are you even paying for all this?”

“My uncle knows the owner. He does his teeth. So he was able to cut me some sort of family discount.”

“Of 11 quid.”

“I may have also dipped into the International Bank of Mary Smith.”

There was a flash of smugness on John’s face which was abruptly wiped away. He looked at his partner somewhat pleadingly. Paul then jumped into John’s arms beaming.

“This is the greatest present you could’ve possibly gotten.”

“Happy anniversary, my love,” John said, kissing Paul once again. 

They walked inside the hotel together, feeling like they were on top of the world. and to think, a year ago they were just two strangers intrigued by the idea of the other, but they had no idea how perfect the other one was. And how badly one could want to hold someone’s hand.


	2. Out and About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul attempt to get busy, but they feel like they are too many onlookers to really get going. And John makes a drastic decision.

Paul and John passed through the doorway of the Blue Valley Inn, their hands brushing together. The door opened up into an elegantly decorated living room. It was empty with the exception of an old woman sitting on a red velvet couch. She was reading on old leather bound book. Opposite her was an oak book case lined with leather bound books. John perked up at the sight of it. 

“Lennon?” A Scottish fellow chirped. 

John spun around to find a portly man standing behind him. he was short, a couple of inches shorter than John and Paul, with a thick black mustache over top a row of glistening teeth. His bottom teeth, though, were all yellowed. John figured his Uncle Bert had yet to finish the job. 

“Mr. Malcom, how do you do?” John had swiftly removed his scouse accent, speaking the Queen’s English. “We spoke on the phone.”

Paul had to suppress a laugh. it was always unusual to hear John suddenly get serious especially around adults. John just sort of nudged him like, ‘hey shut it.’ 

“It’s nice to finally meet you. Your uncle has spoken highly of you.”

“Has he?” Paul tried not to sound so surprised. 

“Yes, he has fine teeth; hardly any cavities.”

Paul cocked his eyebrow in apprehension. John nudged him once again. They were both boxed into the living room with a view of the staircase. Both were tired and a little bit sweaty, so they were anxious to head upstairs to their love nest. 

“So,” Mr. Malcom continued, “You’re here for some sort of retreat?”

“Retreat—what?” John elbowed Paul in the side. 

“Yes, we’re here for a songwriting retreat. Paul and I are trying to write some new songs for our set, and it is impossible to write in the city you know—the noise and the traffic.”

“In Woolton?” John shot him an urgent look to ‘Shut. Up’. 

“Ah, and you live with your auntie.”

“Yes! And it’s impossible to write love ballads with your auntie listening on the other side of the door with a little glass.”

They laughed together, and Paul was still miffed by it all. Mr. Malcom then reached into his pocket and handed them a pair of keys.

“Now, there is only one bed up there. Is that going to be alright for you fellas? I can wheel in a cot or something.”

They vehemently shook their heads. 

“We can top and tail it,” Paul explained, “So nothing to worry about there.” their cheeks were bright red. 

Eyeing them, Mr. Malcom continued, “You’ll be on the third floor. The bathroom is down the hall and to the right. And if you need anything, just popped downstairs and ask for Timothy Malcom. Got it?”

They both nodded. 

Mr. Malcom then disappeared down a corridor. For a moment, John and Paul stood side by side, squeezing the keys in their palms, staring up at the staircase. Slowly, the realization hit them that they would be alone—properly alone—for the first time in a whole year. there would be no onlookers at the cinema, no fear of mourners coming by at the cemetery, and definitely no Jim or Mimi popping in at any moment. It would just be John and Paul on their own for the next 24 hours. Grinning, they bounded up the stairs, taking two or three at a time.

Tearing open the bedroom door, John raced inside and hopped on the bed, the mattress squeaking beneath him. Paul dove under the covers, and John scooted up beside him. Sharing a loving look, they leaned in close to one another, and John gently kissed Paul’s lips. 

“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled away.

“I love you too,” Paul murmured. “I can’t believe you actually did this.”

“Well, you’re worth it.”

“All 11 quid.”

“18,” John sheepishly admitted.

“18 for the night?”

John nodded. Paul’s jaw dropped. 

“So you’re flat broke now?”

Laughing, John rolled over facing the ceiling. Paul scooted up next to him, resting his chin on John’s shoulder. John lovingly stroked Paul’s silky mop of hair. 

“I adore you,” he murmured, gently kissing Paul’s forehead. “I mean, without you, where the fuck would I be on this July 6th? 

“Probably listening to Elvis records—not getting laid.”

John chuckled and kissed Paul’s ear. Paul turned so John could kiss his lips. Parting his lips, John slipped his tongue in. Giggling slightly, John made out with his boyfriend, and even having that thought made him feel elated. 

“Wait,” John said suddenly, pulling away. He hopped off the bed, immediately located a record player, and shuffled through the pile of 45s down there.

“We don’t need a soundtrack,” Paul commented, hopping on his elbow. 

“I just don’t want one of the other patrons to hear.”

Paul’s face fell. 

“What you’re saying is we’re not alone.”

“We are alone, Paul.”

“But we can still get caught.”

“We just have to put on a record, and we’re fine.”

Paul, though, suddenly looked like he wasn’t in the mood. He was at the edge of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. John, held in a swear, and asked cuttingly, “What is that you want?”

“I’m tired of feeling like we have to hide.”

“Well, we do, Paul,” John retorted. “And I don’t like this. Okay? I wish that I could show you off to Mimi, and she could disapprove of you, but because you’re scruffy and working class and not because you’re queer.”

John sat next to Paul on the bed, but he pulled away. 

Thickly, Paul replied, “I know we’re stuck like this. But I just wanted one day where I didn’t feel like such a freak. That’s all.”  
John was about to say something, but Paul stood up and walked out of the room. He didn’t storm out, slamming the door in a huff like John would do. He just moved fast enough that John couldn’t catch him on his way out. 

__

Paul sat on the porch outside a cup of tea in his lap. A young couple sat on the porch swing a few meters away for him. They only had eyes for each other, their hands intertwined. The envy was burning him up, but he found he couldn’t move. He just sat there soaking in the misery and regret. 

The front door slammed shut, and he heard heavy footsteps approach him. he popped his head up hoping to see John’s coif fly by, but it was just the round face of Mr. Malcom. 

“McCartney, are you enjoying your tea?”

Paul stiffly nodded. Mr. Malcom scrutinized him.

“Is everything alright with the room? I haven’t heard Lennon complain, but he had said you’d be shut up there the whole night.”

Paul shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the couple lock lips. He sneered. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” His voice became soft, and his penetrating stare felt less invasive and more concerned. 

Paul nodded again, though he was incapable of reaching the manager’s eye. 

“You know John’s Uncle Bert, right?”

“Yes, kind fella. He’s doing my dental work for free you know.”

“John—his family, they’re generous people. He always lends me his guitar pick when I forget mine, letting his fingers get all blistered. He just…” he trailed off. 

“Now I don’t know either of you very well. But he seems like a nice kid. I mean, taking you up here—for that price—that’s a good thing.”

“It’s a retreat,” Paul quickly added his voice a bit high. 

Smirking, Mr. Malcom continued, “I don’t know Lennon well, but I do know this: he cares an awful lot about you.” 

Paul stared at the man, his eyes wide.

“I’m his friend—best friend, but I don’t know what you’re implying—”

Mr. Malcom held up his hand, cutting him off. He smiled kindly at him, and Paul felt a sort of strange sensation: as if a were pressed up against a river bank the water rushing in, and he couldn’t swim away. 

“I run a bed in breakfast in the North of England. This place is a stomping ground for couples like you just wanting to find a little peace.”  
Paul’s face got hot, and he hadn’t blinked in nearly a full minute. His heart, which had momentarily stopped, was pounding in his chest.

“Please don’t tell Uncle Bert—he can’t know. The Stanley’s are good people, honest, but they can never know about us.”

“Relax, Paul,” he said softly, “I won’t breathe a word of it.”

Paul, blinking, took a deep breath. 

“Now, whatever it is that’s got you upset, forget it. what is this? A birthday?”

“Anniversary.”

“Well, enjoy it, now.”

He handed Paul a chocolate covered biscuit in the shape of a heart. 

“Give it ‘im.”

Nodding, Paul stood up, and he was about to go inside when he heard a car door slam. He turned and looked and saw a red-haired woman step out of a taxi. She was holding a suitcase in one hand and a pie wrapped in tin foil in the other. 

“Julia!” Paul exclaimed his eyes wide. He was about to run off when he realized the porch was screened in. There was virtually nowhere out except the driveway—where Mrs. Lennon was currently approaching from—and the hotel lobby which she was approaching. 

Looking up, Mrs. Lennon waved to Paul. 

“John told me you’d be here,” she said eagerly. She skipped up the driveway and onto the porch. Approaching them, she shook Mr. Malcom’s hand and kissed Paul on the cheek. 

“J-Juli-Julia—wha-what are you—”

“Doing here? You tell me. John called me out of the blue and told me I had to get here—urgently. I asked if he was hurt, and he said no. he just wanted me to come.”

She smiled at young Paul who was no sweating through his shirt. 

“Where is he?”

“U-up—” he stammered, having to remove the word ‘love nest’ out of his system before it slipped out. 

“I’ll show you.”

They opened the front door to find John Lennon knelt down on the living room floor, his guitar strung over his shoulder. 

“John? What is this?” Julia asked eagerly. 

Paul looked petrified. John didn’t respond or even acknowledge them. He just took a deep breath and started strumming his guitar. 

“Love me tender, love me long…” 

Julia, blushing, beamed. Paul was stunned into silence. 

After singing the chorus, John stopped and put his guitar aside. He looked at his mother’s face, and he contorted it into a smile. 

“Was that for me?” She whispered.

He didn’t respond. He just stood up, marched up to Paul, and kissed him. Paul was taken aback, but he couldn’t resist John’s soft lips and kissed him back. The then heard a sudden crash as Julia dropped her pie. John pulled away looking remorseful and a tinge regretful. 

“Mum, I can explain—“

She wrapped her arms around her son, holding him closely. 

“You’ve always been this way?” She whispered, her voice thick.

“Yes, mum, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said firmly, pulling away. she took both his hands and looked him in the eyes. “I love you, John Lennon. Liking some tweenaged punk from Allerton is not going to change that.”

And shocking everyone—including John—he actually burst into tears. 

“Thank you,” he cried, hugging her again. 

He then turned to Paul and took his hands once again. “Now,” he said thickly, “We don’t have to be scared.”

Paul hugged him tightly. He thanked John profusely before kissing him once again. This, though, was met with a small smattering of applause.


End file.
